stoned becos i'm sad

i'm sitting on a toilet seat
glancing at the door
then down to the floor

i slouch forward
and stretch back
and i'm lucky if
the sensor behind me
doesn't assume i'm
getting up when i'm not

cos otherwise
the water will
splash up to my
ass cheeks and
the idea of that
doesn't go well
with my
facial expression

and my stomach
churns as though
elbowing me for
not eating a proper
meal instead of
bravely venturing for
a cup of tooth
degrading
 sugar
and coffee

and the people around me
arouse my attention and
then my disdain

and i want to clear up for myself how i feel
but i can't stop nudging myself from the thoughts
that (a) maybe i'm unhappy
and (b) i'm being dramatic

i haven't a real sense of reality
i'm really just roaming the city
in a costume, getting stoned
in as many crevices i can hide in

and i always want to write something
and i want it to sound good all the time
and i want it to make sense, too
and i also want it to be deeply thought out
and i want it to be clever and witty
and suddenly, i don't hold my writing
at such a high regard, and so i stop thinking about writing
and i just sit there, where i may be, and stare
and slowly, sometimes, i'll just stop thinking

sometimes, though, i could just
pick up a pen and begin to write
and i will like what i'm writing about
and the way i'm writing it and i'll be so happy
at my expressive nature and i'll be proud of myself
and eventually i'll stop writing
and walk away from that moment feeling good
and just as eventually, i'll forget i ever wrote anything
and whatever i wrote, however neatly i may have written it
will go on to exist in vain, stowed away and out of sight

i'm inclined to listen to vinyl records
because i have a small collection of them
and occassionally i might summon all the energy in my being
to put one on the plate spinner and place the needle gently on a groove
and i could listen intently, appreciating even the smallest sounds
that leap and swim all around the air tickling my ear drums

some times i might sit at a computer and
get carried away with it's functions so attentively
that i lose my being in time and when i finally snap
out of the trance i succumb to i find my ass to be aching
at the slightest shift of weight.

i've got to get up
and move out
before the floor
sinks below me
and i'll feel bugs
crawling about my
head and neck
for ever.

"you're a douchebag."

yeah, well . . . fuck/

idon't do much to begin with. being honest is a pain in the ass, i bet everybody knows this.

and i'm sure there are plenty of books on the validity of "right" and "wrong."

all the signs point to "you've got yourself to blame."
occasionally i try to pry away the blame from myself towards other factors like my upbringing, or my parents.
then i think, "well fuck, i didn't really go the route they wanted me to, i just made my own way. chose my own friends. decided on my own not to do my homework or talk to that girl."

i know for a fact that there's no wrong way to go about living.

why is my way wrong? or am i just painting it that way for myself?

i'm definitely trapped, but why?

and you can assume i won't heed your advice; most usually it doesn't "sound right" or "feel right" to me.

"but nothing feels right or sounds right to you!" yer saying. i know i know, fuck it. fuck you.

and then the war's not worth it and i give up. even giving up requires a decision. like: where do i go from here. there's a freeway conveniently located a few blocks away, you could just close your eyes and walk in there ...
or if i happen to be driving a car (i've found myself in this situation several times), it's really simple to just lean harder on the accelerator and trail off to that car over there, or maybe that desolate bus stop ...

of course, though, there's sinsemilla, which will give me a pleasant (some might say "normal") appetite and later put me to sleep. and when i wake up in a stupor, i could wander around the streets and forget my worries and venture into my daydreams and another day will fly by and bring about the nighttime and i'll find myself wondering why i don't do shit and where my day went.

hey, an earthquake.